Anna had perfected the art of winged eyeliner years ago. It was the one ritual that remained sacred. Just five minutes of quiet finesse, with the gentle glide of a brush and the familiar tilt of the chin. She didn’t need a mirror anymore to know when her wing was sharp enough to slice through the nonsense of the day.

But peace was fleeting in a house with two young girls.

From the hallway, the scream echoed.
“Moooooom! Ava took my doll and now its head is gone!”
“She’s lying! I didn’t take it! I just wanted to look at it!”

Anna sighed softly as the brand new eyeliner froze mid-stroke. The familiar sound of tiny chaos was not enough to rattle her anymore. She had grown used to background arguments over toys, snack rights, and who got to sit closest to the TV. Ava was five, going on fifteen and full of dramatic flair. Zoe, the six-year-old, had already claimed her title as the boss. The arguments were predictable, always silly, exhausting, and yet somehow endearing.

She capped her eyeliner and returned it to the dresser, picked up her mascara and began working on her lashes. Even in war zones, women found ways to feel beautiful. This was her version of armour.

Anna’s mental to-do list scrolled through her head like an endless ticker tape. Drop the girls to school. Meet with the boss at 10am. Respond to that pile of unread emails. Pay the school fees. Pick up groceries. Try not to cry from overwhelm. Try to remember who she used to be before all of this.

Anna never set out to be a single mother. Then again, life never asked for her permission. She grew up with her mom and a stepdad who, for all intents and purposes, was her real dad. He taught her how to ride a bike, showed up at parent-teacher meetings, and tried his best in a world that didn’t always reward good men. Her parents eventually went their separate ways, but the love between her and her stepdad never did. First, she lost her mom to illness. It was sudden and it broke her in ways she still hasn’t come to terms with. A few years later, her stepdad passed too. Losing them both felt like the ground underneath her heart gave way.

She met someone in her early twenties. He had a kind smile and was a smooth talker. He made her laugh feel like the universe hadn’t forgotten her. Then one daughter came, then the next. Then came the truth – he was a liar, a cheat, a master of half-truths and vanishing acts. Anna had a choice and it was an easy one. She could keep pretending for the sake of appearances, or leave and build something meaningful for her girls.

She chose herself. She chose them.

It wasn’t easy. No family support. No financial cushion. Just a steady job at a local university, where she managed administrative work and smiled through Zoom meetings even when her soul was tired. She paid the bills, packed the lunches, kissed the scraped knees, and prayed she was doing enough.

Meeting someone new? That felt like a luxury she couldn’t afford.

It was a Saturday evening, with the kids at a sleepover and the silence pressing in, she decided to go out. Rhea had been texting her all week, practically demanding a girls’ night. They met at their usual spot – a casual wine bar tucked away from the world. Rhea was the kind of friend who understood without explanation. Their lives had run parallel in so many ways – heartbreak, resilience, and a love for people who sometimes didn’t deserve them.

“You ever feel like you’re just surviving?” Anna asked, stirring her drink.

Rhea smiled knowingly. “Every damn day. But look at us. We’re still here. Still going.”

They laughed, swapped stories, and toasted to their chaos. Anna left that night feeling lighter. She was reminded that life could still surprise her. Then came the real surprise.

A few weeks after that evening with Rhea, Anna bumped into someone. Literally. At the grocery store, of all places, in the cereal aisle. His name was Chris and he was warm, charming, and he remembered her name after one introduction. They started talking which turned into texting which turned into coffee dates. Then real dates. Then weekends where he helped the girls with puzzles and let them braid his hair.

For the first time in a long while, Anna let herself believe she might not have to carry it all alone.

But life has its own timing. She woke up one morning and realized she needed to do the one thing she was dreading. The pink lines came fast and clear. Pregnant.

Chris didn’t vanish, but he didn’t step up either. He became a maybe-man. A shadow. Someone who said he cared but he definitely wasn’t consistent. He said he was “figuring things out,” but Anna didn’t have time for indecision.

So now, she stood in front of the mirror again. Her third daughter growing quietly inside her. Zoe and Ava still fighting over toys and snacks. Her bank account stretched thin and her heart stretched thinner.

Her mind went back to that night out with Rhea. Here she was, still going, still standing strong. Every single day Anna was learning that strength wasn’t about having it all figured out. It was about continuing to rise, to love, and to lead, even when the support you long for never comes.

She didn’t have a partner, but she had her daughters, she had her drive, and she had her winged eyeliner. And for now, that was her strength.

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